


Sentiment

by qwertysweetea



Series: The (surprisingly domestic) lives of Moriarty and Moran [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Feelings, Ficlet, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, No Smut, Realization, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: “You’re going to be the death of me.” It wasn’t said unkindly, but God did the honesty of it hit Jim in the chest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Romanticisation of death

“You’re going to be the death of me.” It wasn’t said unkindly, but God did the honesty of it hit Jim in the chest.

There were not many people he loved.

Any… there were not any people he loved. You couldn’t be sentimental in this industry; you had to be willing to watch people die, sacrifice them, kill them yourself. He couldn’t remember how young he had been when he’d learnt that lesson, nor could he remember a time when he saw people as anything other than what was useful to him.

Sebastian hadn’t been the one to change that, that much was abundantly clear. If such a person existed he was certainly not destructive enough to employ them. He wasn’t like _him_ , all tangled up in sentiment and feelings, but for the first time in their decade-long association, the thought produced something. It sat on his chest, making himself frown slightly.

“You’d be dead now if it wasn’t for me.” He replied, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes.

Sebastian pulled a glove off with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor said in a tone that sounded far too appreciative, “I suppose I should be thankful.” He repeated with the other glove, and then kicked them into the corner.

Jim continued to watch him from his chair, eyes forgetting to keep up the appearance of vague indifference by occasionally flitting back to his laptop screen. “I’ve condemned you to life. There’s nothing to be thankful for in that.”

“Thankful…” He elaborated, stepping into the room properly “…that when it does happen, it will be for you.”

He turned and strode to the kitchen with just enough speed to miss Jim’s fingers tense on the keyboard.

Jim allowed his eyes to shut in a moment of realisation, and swallowing it all down thickly he opened them again and turned to his work.


End file.
